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Halloween Holiday	By : goldhorse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 21240 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I make no money writing this story. Seriously, I'm dead broke.

Chapter List
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My muse is at it again. She gave me a little Halloween tale for you. It's done, so I'll post it as quickly as I can, though working 9 straight has hampered my internet time. Enjoy.

“Uggh… disgusting.”
“Gross!”
Draco wanted to roll his eyes… but that would be undignified. Sometimes he wondered why he’d signed up for this stupid trip, but then he caught sight of the bookworm, her eyes wide with wonder and he knew. He’d signed up because she was there. And maybe because he had a slight interest in potions. Okay, so a rather large interest. But Pansy and Daphne carrying on about how every stop was dank, dreary, or disgusting was wearing thin. He wondered why they’d signed up. Well, he knew why Pansy had. She couldn’t bring herself to pry her grubby little hands off of him, though he’d more than told her he wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole. Daphne was here for Blaise, who stood stoically in the back of the group, silent as a wraith.
“Can it you twits.”
Draco almost wanted to iron his hands like a house elf. For once, he actually agreed with the witless weasel. Though, he did give himself points for thinking that Weaselbee was quite used to dank and dreary places, poor as he was. But he did have the gift of being able to anger the girls so much that they couldn’t do much more than splutter. At least he was proving useful. But the way he kept trying to manhandle Granger was more than enough to test his patience. He wondered again why he had been so callous and cruel to her over the years. Since the war, he’d been nothing but nice but it had made her wary, untrusting.
Of course it did. What did he expect? He wanted to both snort and smack himself, neither of which would be actions befitting a Malfoy. His opinions had changed when he saw her fourth year on the arm of Viktor Krum. After all, if a pureblood like Krum saw something in the mudblood, there had to be something there. So he paid closer attention and realized there was more to her than the swotty know-it-all that he’d pegged her as. She had compassion, though freeing house elves was a waste of time. She was fiercely loyal and deadly with a wand. He’d seen that first hand. But it was her strength when his psychotic Aunt Bellatrix was torturing her that settled it. He wanted Hermione Granger. And he was determined to get her.
If only the ginger git hadn’t already laid claim to her. And he couldn’t just make the weasel look bad in front of her. He’d only tried once but it made her latch onto him even more fiercely. It made his stomach turn every time the unworthy bastard touched her… like he was doing now. At least Granger looked kind of annoyed with the way the wanker was draped over her. If the weasel wanted to protect Granger from what they might find here by mimicking an oversized robe, he was seriously lacking in intelligence.
“Professor… what exactly are we doing here?”
Draco quirked an eyebrow at Potter’s polite tone. The Chosen One had certainly had a change of heart towards their Potion Master since the war. Then again, he’d seen the dour man very nearly die before his eyes. And there was something about memories and Potter’s mother, but he’d never exactly heard the whole story. Still, there was some sort of truce between them, which actually made Draco happy. Snape seriously didn’t need any more hostility in his life. Being Dumbledore’s executioner, no matter how noble the reason, was not easy to bear.
“This is actually not on our list of places to visit,” Snape said grimly. “But we can’t apparate in the storm and it’s the closest shelter to the herbs.”
“You mean the closest place where we won’t be arrested for harvesting endangered plants,” Hermione said dryly.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Snape snapped.
She ducked her head, a small smirk on her pouty lips. Draco wanted to back her against the wall and fuck her silly. He could image those beautiful pink pillows wrapped around his cock, amber eyes trained on him. He turned to scout their port in the storm, willing the tent in his pants to go down. Just thinking about her set his blood on fire but he was certain she’d be appalled at that. So, he tried changing the subject.
“What is this place?”
Snape stepped forward, his boots making a dull thud on the warped floor boards of the abandoned building. “The San Antonio State Sanitarium.”
“Whoa,” Blaise said, finally breaking his silence. “We’re in a psych ward?”
Snape gave a curt nod. “Abandoned, or shut down rather, in the early sixties.”
“Why?” Daphne asked with wide eyes.
“Oh please,” Hermione huffed. “Do we have to go there?”
“Where?” Daphne asked, her face completely blank.
Draco couldn’t help himself. He rolled his eyes and turned on his completely clueless classmate. “Granger was referring to the completely barbaric way that muggles used to treat mental illnesses during the time this place was still running. They used to drill holes in their heads and perform disastrous surgeries that killed more than it helped. Then, in an effort to save money on surgeries, they shoved this pointy thing they called an ice pick through the eyes of their victims, scraping at the brain to try and cure some vague disease they had no understanding of. It often left them worse than before, though I imagine a walking vegetable is very easy to care for. And that’s just the beginning of all the vile things they did.”
“Enough,” Hermione snapped. “They didn’t know better.”
Draco couldn’t help but sniff at that. If this conversation had taken place years ago, he would have called her on her slip. But now, he realized that the wizarding world wasn’t much better. Bellatrix and Crouch Jr. were proof of that, torturing respected aurors, purebloods at that, to insanity. Perhaps they just didn’t want to be alone with their psychosis. Instead of getting worked up about it, he simply turned and lit his wand so he could take a look around.
“Of course they didn’t,” Pansy said with a sneer. Her illuminated wand threw her face in harsh relief. “They were filthy muggles.”
“That’s enough,” Snape snapped, making Pansy jump and cower.
“Since when did Malfoy know so much about muggles,” Weasley spat.
“Classic pureblood doctrine,” Hermione said bitterly. “Learn the worst about your enemy and use it against them every chance you get.”
“Hardly fair when it’s true, Granger,” Draco said softly, narrowing his eyes to peer into the darkest corners. “Shouldn’t it be warmer in here? And maybe have more dirt?”
“It’s storming,” Potter piped in, lighting his wand. “Probably cooled the place off.”
“And there are no telling how many visitors this place has had,” Snape said softly as he lit his wand. “Every teenager wants the thrill of spending the night in a haunted building.”
Daphne giggled and held her lit wand up. “They should try Hogwarts.”
“Muggle ghosts are different,” Blaise said softly, casting his light into a far corner. “They don’t have near the presence ours do.”
“Wait,” Hermione said, lighting her wand as well. “You mean muggle and magical ghosts are different.”
“Sure they are,” Weasley piped in, lighting his wand as well. “Muggles are sort of trapped you see. They only have limited interactions and usually have some sort of anchor, either to a happy memory or their final resting place. Magic allows the ghosts to cross and interact freely and it carries on to their spirits. Like Sir Nicholas, he didn’t exactly get beheaded at Hogwarts, did he?”
“Nearly beheaded,” Hermione and Potter chimed in at the same time, laughing at themselves and even harder when Weasley grinned.
Draco fought back the urge to punch the bespectacled prick and started walking through what had to have been the main lobby. There was a small desk and chair, both covered in dirt and shredded parchment, probably the receptionist’s work space. Anything of importance had long been taken, but he thought he recognized an old muggle communication device… a peletone or telehome or something. He heard Pansy’s smug harrumph and almost wanted to hex her mouth shut.
“See, even muggle ghosts are inferior.”
“Not true,” Snape said, effectively cutting off any rebuttal that would have happened. “They are actually more dangerous.”
“How’s that?” Hermione asked meekly.
“Muggle ghosts are often drawn by demons,” Snape said.
“We can banish demons,” Pansy said.
Snape quirked a brow and smirked. “These are quite different Miss Parkinson. Muggle poltergeists aren’t like Peeves. They would just assume suck out your life force as to dump a bucket of freezing water over your head.”
“But this place doesn’t have any ghosts in it,” Daphne said, her eyes darting around wildly.
“That’s the other thing about them,” Blaise said, his eyes ever cautious. “It takes a lot of energy to become visible... or magic. Without it… you can’t see them. They are drawn to living beings so they can siphon off their energy, do more damage. Fear is the best kind of energy. And it happens to take less energy to move things than to appear as a corporal being.”
“So they open doors and bang on things,” Weasley said with a shrug. “No big deal. Most muggle ghosts tend to relive their last moments or are searching for something.”
“And the ones controlled by demons have their own agenda,” Blaise said darkly before walking over to a staircase. “Wonder if these stairs are still sturdy.”
“Their own agenda?” Daphne whimpered.
“Use your head Miss Greengrass,” Snape drawled. “What do demons want?”
“Power,” Daphne whispered. “They take people for power.”
Snape nodded. “And what did Mr. Zabini say the most powerful energy was?”
“Fear,” Daphne answered softly.
“So, using the power of deductive reasoning, what is the one thing you shouldn’t do in the presence of a muggle ghost?”
“Be afraid,” Daphne answered warily.
“Precisely,” Snape snapped. “So, let us go upstairs and find a placed to set up camp. You all brought your camping gear like I asked?” Everyone nodded. “Good. Patient rooms should be upstairs. We’ll have plenty of space to spread out so no one will have to share. I would rather no one slept downstairs though, just in case some wayward muggle decides to spend the night on Halloween for a laugh. It will give us some time to hide.”
Draco took that as a blessing to break away from the others. He couldn’t take another moment of the goofy grins or Daphne’s completely irrational fear of muggle ghosts. That dozy cow was scared of the magical ones too so it shouldn’t surprise him. He shook his head in amusement as he picked his way up the stairs. They were made of wood so he was careful to test each one before he put his full weight down. Luckily, they seemed to be fine, only a few weak spots, and he was on the patient level. It was hard to imagine that they’d actually house sick patients on this floor. What if they got disoriented and fell over the railing? But that theory was soon squelched when he saw the layout. The part near the rails were all for staff, complete with rotting desks and chairs. The first row of rooms looked like examination rooms. He shivered and decided to try the next hall. He wasn’t scared but the thought of people being unintentionally tortured in those rooms did not sit well with him.
The next hall was more fruitful. These were the patients’ rooms. Each had a wrought iron bedframe, some with and some without mattresses. There was also a small nightstand that was bolted to the wall. Some had broken picture frames, others had less than comforting drawings on the walls. There was one that he quickly passed up. He wasn’t about to try and find out what the smears on the faded white walls were. Then he caught a lucky break. At the end of the hall was a quaint little room. It had no personal affects and no rotted mattress. If the frame was sturdy enough, he could transfigure his sleeping bag, anther muggle novelty he’d picked up during their travels, to be a comfortable pallet.
His luck held. The frame was quite sturdy and a few bracing charms set his mind at ease. He quickly set about transfiguring a comfy mattress and pillow. Then he stripped out of his clothes and set about casting cleaning charms. It felt good to get out of his wet muddy clothes and into a dry pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He normally wore silk but tonight was a bit chillier than he was expecting, especially if he wasn’t in his own bed. He sighed and cleaned his clothes, packing them away for the next day. Then he crawled into bed and did what he did every night, brought out his journal.
He wasn’t sure when he decided to start a journal. It had just happened over the years. When he’d first started getting confused about Pureblood doctrine, there wasn’t a soul he could trust to talk to, not even Snape. So he’d written his thoughts down. They were disjointed and almost incoherent, but they helped him sort things out. After that, it had become habit. It helped him settle his mind at the end of the day. Sometimes he’d write about his interesting findings during their trip. Tonight, he chose to write about why they were on the trip.
It’s odd, really, the eight of us on this impossible journey. I mean, half of the people on it couldn’t give a rat’s arse about potions. I suspect Daphne and Pansy were bored to tears listening to the properties of the Texas Snowbell, though they were interesting. I didn’t know such a rare plant had the ability to flavor and lend resilience to more delicate potions. And Potter, he looked like he was about to wet himself. I know for a fact that before sixth year, he was pants at potions. Weasley, well, that git couldn’t keep his eyes off Granger’s tits long enough to pay attention. Merlin I would have loved to call him out on it, but she would have hated me for it.
This trip was supposed to be about preparation for a potions career outside of Hogwarts, a chance to catch up on what we missed during that wretched excuse for a seventh year. I’d never admit it out loud, but I am forever indebted to Potter for killing the snakey bastard. Instead, it’s become some sort of dainty field trip. Only Blaise, Granger, and I really care about the potions. And perhaps Potter, though I suspect he’s more interested in the Professor than the subject. Not that I care. Really, if the Chosen one wants Snape, more power to him. I just wish I didn’t have to suffer everyone else.
And now we’re stuck at a muggle psych word for the night because some people, namely Weasley and the whiny duo, can’t move their arses when Snape tells them to. We would have had plenty of time had they not decided to whine at the pace. Even Granger with her short stature was keeping up just fine. I often wonder how she does it. She could easily pace me.
Draco jumped when he heard the bang resonate through the hallway. He cursed under his breath and put away his journal. No need for anyone to see it. But he had to check out the disturbance. More than likely it was just Weasley and Potter being stupid, but if it was muggles, then he’d have to do some quick spell work. He grabbed his wand, extinguishing it, and slipped his feet back into his trainers, glad he’d thought to dry them earlier. Then he warded his room and peeked out.
He frowned when he saw Potter and Granger tiptoeing down the hall, the glittering of a small flame shrouding them in shadows. Not smart. They needed stealth right now, not brash courage. He looked around to make sure no one else was about and sprinted down the hallway, ducking when a stunning spell came flying his way.
“What the fuck?” he hissed. “We’re supposed to be laying low you idiots.”
“Sorry,” Potter whispered sheepishly. “Reaction.”
“Well curb it,” he snapped. “What if I had been a muggle?”
“Sorry,” Potter mumbled.
He shook his head and took the lead, creeping down the hall. He turned back to motion that it was all clear when he realized they were staring at him. “What?”
“W-what happened to your shirt?” Potter asked.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I was ready for bed, if you must know. I figured I would get some shut eye.”
“In this place?” Hermione squeaked.
“Why not?”
“It’s… never mind,” she sighed. “You heard the boom I imagine?”
Draco nodded and trotted down the next hall, jumping slightly when Snape materialized in front of him.
“Did you forget something?”
“Shit,” Draco breathed. “I didn’t even think of disillusioning myself.”
“I meant your shirt,” Snape snapped.
“Why is everyone so bloody caught up on my shirt?”
“Because you’re delicious,” Pansy purred from behind Snape.
“Save it,” Draco growled. “I’m more interested in what that blasted noise was.”
“Well, you’re pretty distracting,” Daphne whispered, her eyes cutting over to Blaise before she looked back at him, her eyes drinking in his torso.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like sleeping with a bleeding shirt on. It’s constricting. So either get used to it or shut the hell up. I’ll try to remember that there are delicate eyes the next time someone decides to send a herd of hippogriffs through the halls.”
Still shaking his head in annoyance, he snuck down the hall so he could look over the stairwell. There was nothing there. He wanted to groan. Now they’d have to search the entire bloody place. All he wanted to do was crawl back into his cozy bed and go to sleep. A hand on his shoulder startled him. He whipped around and jerked when he realized his wand was almost up Hermione’s nose. He pulled back and sighed.
“Sorry.”
“Not the only one who’s jumpy, am I?” Potter asked.
Draco rolled his eyes again. “Save it. And where in the hell is Weasley?”
“Don’t know,” Hermione answered. “He said he wanted a look around before he settled down for the night.”
“Probably him making all the damn racket,” Blaise said.
“We’ll have to search the place to make sure though,” Draco said, his eyes narrowed so he could see better. It was almost pitch black and he dare not light his wand.
“No need,” Hermione said, raising her wand. “Homenum Revelio.” Her wand pointed down and to the left. “We search there first.”
They moved as closely together as possible, keeping a sharp eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Well, anything that could be contributed to humans anyway. Twice, desk chairs in the various offices started spinning for no reason. Once, a cold burst of air made them shiver. Draco wished he’d thought to grab his shirt after that. Bloody muggle ghosts. They’d managed to scare Daphne witless but he was just ready to find the flipping weasel and go back to bed.
Three operating rooms, seven offices, one storage room, three file rooms, and what looked like a consultation room later, there was still no sign of Weasley. Granger kept casting the detection spell every now and then to make sure they were on the right track. It never faltered but it was aggravating that they didn’t seem to be making any progress. The building didn’t look that bloody big from the outside.
“Wait,” Potter said suddenly, making everyone halt before they got to the last door. “Hear that?”
They all stopped in their tracks, straining their ears for a sound. It took a moment but Draco finally heard it, a faint moan. He wanted to snicker but he didn’t want to tip Weasley off. It was more than obvious to him what was happening. He knew the guys did, too. But the girls, well, he would pay good galleons to see what their faces looked like right now.
“Step aside,” Snape growled before storming through the doors.
Draco didn’t want to miss a minute of this so he rushed in behind the Professor. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting beside the weasel’s hand down his trousers, but this was beyond. He blinked twice just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating but the image didn’t go away. Weasley was completely sans pants, barely visible in the ghostly light of the room. It took Draco about five seconds to realize this was the morgue, which made his stomach churn. Who wanked in the morgue? But Weasley wasn’t exactly wanking.
“RONALD!” Hermione screeched from behind them.
Draco happily got out of the way as Hermione barged her way into the room. He had to admit, it was a sight. Who thought a muggle ghost would give good head? But apparently Weasley was enjoying it. Draco had to admit, the pale blonde was quite shapely and the nurse’s uniform enhanced her curves. But those black eyes would turn anyone off… anyone besides Weasley that is. He chanced a glance behind him to discover Pansy practically salivating while she watched Weasley try to fight off a ghost and stammer an excuse to his enraged girlfriend.
“It… it isn’t what it… I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Weasley blubbered, his mouth dropping open in pleasure in between attempts.
“Save it,” Hermione hissed. “We’re through.”
“But Her…”
“Miss Granger,” Snape drawled. “Perhaps I should point out that demons do what they want.”
She huffed. “He seems to want it too.”
Weasley squeaked and yanked his pants up, successfully evading the ghost and shuffling forward. His trousers were yanked down mid-step and he went sprawling in the floor, twisting around until his bits jutted into the air. The ghost trailing him fell on him again, making him groan.
“I’m going to have to obliviate myself,” Blaise murmured.
“Seconded,” Draco added before turning to leave. “And after that, I’ll have a kip. Night all.”
“Draco,” Snape drawled.
Draco sighed and turned back around. “Weasley’s obviously enjoying himself. Why interfere?”
“She’s a demon,” Snape said quietly.
“She’s harmless,” Draco said with a pout.
“Get off!” Weasley snapped, pushing the ghostly woman off of him and pulling his trousers back up.
“Wrong move,” Draco breathed as the demon turned from a buxom blond to a gruesome ghoul with sharp teeth and a nasty temper.
Draco couldn’t afford to think. He reacted with pure instinct, pulling his wand and drawing a complicated pattern with his wand while chanting in Latin. Snape joined in, drawing a ring of fire around Weasley and the demon. Draco finished the demon circle and started on the pentagram while Snape worked to free Weasley from the demon that was now trying to rip him to shreds. His shirt was in tatters and red lines were appearing all over his chest. This demon was a nasty one. He really wished the git hadn’t pissed the demon off. He’d rather not reveal this to the others. Banishing demons wasn’t a popular talent.
“Done,” Snape snapped, his eyes darting back and forth for the hole in the banishing circle.
Draco didn’t have to search. He knew exactly where he put it, having cast it himself. Now they just had to get the damned demon away from Weasley. He caught Snape’s eye and looked sharply over to the hole before raising his wand and muttering a summoning spell under his breath. Snape joined him, muttering another spell to weaken the demon’s hold on Weasley. The demon writhed and fought but it couldn’t touch Weasley any longer. It was too weak.
“Get him, Potter,” Draco hissed, risking the time he dropped the spell to save Weasley’s arse, though it was necessary.
Potter didn’t have to be told twice. He ran around the circle, having spotted the safe spot to pull Weasley from it. Even more impressive, he didn’t try to reach in. Instead, he cast a spell to throw ropes around Weasley and yanked him out, dragging him halfway across the floor before he finally touched him. When they were both safe, Draco completed the spell, summoning a portal into the nether world. The demon shrieked and writhed but was ultimately dragged down. Just as the last wisps of its specter disappeared, Draco sealed the spell. Silence fell over everyone as the circle burned out.
“Can we go to bed now?” Draco growled.
“Yes, I think so,” Snape said softly. “Once we bind Weasley to a room. They seem to be overly attracted to him.”
Draco cast a sharp eye around, noticing a haze of other ghosts hovering in the walls, no doubt drawn to the circle as well. He didn’t sense anything malicious from these so he shrugged it off. But Snape was right. They did seem rather drawn to Weasley. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes.
“Fine. Let’s go pick him out a room.”
He didn’t give anyone a chance to speak before he stormed out of the morgue, retracing his steps with his wand aloft. He didn’t care if the Minister of Magic himself was standing in the foyer with a herd of muggles, he was going to seal Weasley in a ghost proof room and go to bed. He was tired of this nonsense. And he was secretly hoping that Granger wouldn’t get over Weasley’s infraction, instead stewing over it through the night. But he didn’t want anyone to know that so he marched up the stairs, remembering what spots to avoid on the way up.
It didn’t take him long to find another unoccupied room, this one on the opposite side of the building. It was like his, unadorned except for a bed frame and a night table screwed to the wall. He busied himself with sealing the ghosts out. Once Weasley entered, he’d seal the door against his signature as well. He hoped Weasley had an empty bladder because there was no way in hell he was coming back to let him out before the morning.
“Wow,” Hermione gasped behind him. “How did you find one that was empty?”
“There are plenty of them, if you’re patient enough to look.”
He turned to see her flush at his subtle jibe. He always thought she was too brash. Granted, she was the most level headed of the bunch, but much too impatient for her own good. He cast the final spell at the floor and then moved towards the entrance, waiting for the still shaken weasel to enter. Snape had him by the nape of the neck and was practically frog marching him down the hallway.
“And don’t come out,” Snape snapped. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’ve put us all in?”
“What? You?” Weasley asked incredulously. “Look at my bloody chest!”
“Serves you right you dunce,” Blaise growled. “You were warned that muggle demons were dangerous and you still went looking for one, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t looking for a demon,” Weasley snapped. “I just wanted to check the place out.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Well congratulations Weaselbee, you’ve successfully managed to tip the scales and throw us all into danger. Well done.”
“What are you talking about?”
Draco sighed and shook his head. “Muggle ghosts are innocuous, Weasley. We’ve already covered that. But demons are not. And if a demon is controlling ghosts, it means that there is an order here. You forced our hand and made us banish a demon. There is no telling what that did to the balance here. The ghosts were fortifying themselves with the demon. No demon, no food. What do you think they’ll do now?”
“What did you expect me to do?” Weasley asked. “Just let her continue.”
Draco snorted. “You didn’t seem to mind it when you didn’t have an audience. Hope you don’t need the loo, Weasley, because you aren’t getting out of here until sunrise.”
“Why?” Weasley cried.
“You aren’t going to upset the balance anymore,” Snape snapped. “And muggle ghosts draw power from the moon. Once the sun takes over, it’ll be safer. They’ll only be able to move objects instead of manifest. I suggest everyone put up a simple repelling spell in their rooms. Good night.”
With that, the aggravated Potion Master stalked off down the hall. Draco noted that he turned the corner at the main junction. There must have been another row of rooms, though he didn’t care to investigate tonight. He cast the spell to capture Weasley’s signature and then cast the jinx on the door to keep him in. When he was satisfied, he nodded and stalked off down the hall.
“Hey,” Weasley yelled, charging the door only to be thrown back a few feet.
Draco smirked and kept walking. That would fix that menacing weasel. Realistically, Weasley probably didn’t have much of a chance against the demon. They were bloody powerful and more than a little persuasive. They read their victims, becoming what they wanted most. Apparently Weasley had been horny in the right place at the right time. But Snape was right. Banishing a demon in a dwelling with established balances was very dangerous. And Snape hadn’t mentioned the worst part. It was All Hallow’s Eve, the night when spirits were strongest.
Draco hated Halloween. If he’d been a muggle, he would have probably enjoyed dressing up and scaring people and begging for candy door to door. But he was a wizard, which meant that he was forced to participate in the ancient traditions, chanting and watching people fuck mindlessly under the guise of gaining enlightenment and power. And now that he was older, he was expected to participate. He was actually quite glad he was on another continent for it. But that didn’t mean that the spirits weren’t at their strongest now.
When he reached his room, he cast a barrage of spells to keep the blasted ghosts out of his room. He could tell they’d been in there, moving his things. For one, his journal was open and on his bed instead of in his bag where he’d left it. And he could feel the chill in the air. But that was rather harmless when it came down to it. So he warmed the room up and cast a spell to wake him should anyone try to get in. Then he climbed into bed and drifted off.

AN: Ain't I a stinker? Next installment soon. Drop me a line and let me know if you like it. Until next time... Love you guys!
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